


Outside the comfort zone

by Dino_Cattivo



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Bickering, Emotions, Getting Together, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I blame my lack of sleep, M/M, Q Has a Cat, Q on mission, Smut, Swearing, Talking, lots of swearing, no beta we die like James Bond, now with smut, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dino_Cattivo/pseuds/Dino_Cattivo
Summary: Q is on mission with Bond and is not having a good time
Relationships: James Bond & Q, James Bond/Q
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	1. Outside the comfort zone

**Author's Note:**

> I now made this it's own think because all my short prompts are growing long at it makes not much sense to keep them as collection of shorts then

Labored breathing, more like short gasps of air through thin lips without ever managing to get enough into his aching lungs. The tightness in his chest which made him only breathe faster and faster strongly reminded him of hyperventilation, or what he had read about it. But he was sure hyperventilating would feel exactly like this.

The only reason why he was sure he wasn’t just well on a way to a freaking panic attack was the hot stabbing in his side, the sizing, and screaming muscles all the way from his calf up to his lower back and the burning pain in his feet. 

**Fucking, goddamn, shitty hell** . Quentin hated running. HATED IT! Humans had invented the bloody wheel for a fucking reason!

He misjudged his mobility at his high pace as he tried to duck around the next sharp corner and his shoulder clipped the stone painfully making him lose his balance in the process. He stumbled forward his arms flapping wildly on his side to right himself and fingertips brushed the rough stone, scraping them - fucking fantastic. It was not like he needed them to use his computer and write today's report later. 

In all of his relief to be still standing he hadn’t noticed the two uneven steps in front of him and his foot suddenly hit the air, sending him in a forward freefall. He yelped loudly and pressed his eyes together. Which was stupid. Just because he couldn’t see the uneven cobblestones coming to meet him didn’t mean it wasn’t there. 

So eyes open again. Whoa, the floor was way too close already. Fuck physics. Gravity was a bitch. He frantically tried to get some traction back under his feet to at least prevent hitting with his nose first but already got his arms up in the likely case he had to take the fall somehow. A broken arm would still hurt like a bitch but Quentin's brain was his selling point and he didn’t need any damage to it. It was not like he could make a carrier with his athletic skills.

To his absolute surprise, did he manage to get enough footing to change his movement from face-first to the floor too awkwardly to the side to let the wall stop his momentum completely. This time his other shoulder took the blunt force of the impact and he could hear the fabric of his cheap shirt ripping and felt the agony as his skin was taken off like it was rubbing sandpaper. He would have screamed and cursed whoever build their house with materials like that but the heavy collision had already taken out all the air from his lungs. 

**Fucking shit.**

He just rested there for a second thinking this fucking chase could go to bloody hell. That was till he remembered what were the stakes here and that if they failed he would ultimately be caught in the ensuing crossfire and die anyway. 

He looked up trying to find the broad muscled back he had been following for approximately the last 12 minutes but saw only fog. Either he was hurt worse than he had thought and was passing out right now or…. he tore his glasses from his nose and rubbed them against his shirt to clear them up at least somehow before finally finding his target in the far distance getting farther and farther away. Time to continue running. 

Who had thought it would be a fucking good idea to send him here? He was not made for this shit. He wore fucking glasses, for fucks sake, which were the worse for steamy exercising in the bloody humid head of Venice.

VENICE! This was not what he had meant when he said he needed a fucking break. He had just wanted a quiet weekend with his cat at home or maybe if he was really adventurous a one hour drive into a small village, as long as it still had decent internet. 

But no~o, they had sent him to Venice and even had the gall to tell him to enjoy getting to see the city on company expenses. He wasn’t enjoying this at all. There wasn’t much time to look around when running on top speed and trying to keep up with one of the best-trained men on the planet. Not that this shady and dark back alleys had much to see anyway. Quintin hadn’t even known Venice had dark alleys! Plus they had to take a plane here. A PLANE. He despised flying. Everybody knew this but they had still sent him here. 

Fuck this. All of this. And especially this bloody chase. If they wanted the Prototype so badly then Bond should get it. Quentin would just wait until the man caught the information broker and brought whatever device contained the information to Quentin for decoding like the bloodhound he was. 

Or the hyperactive child he appeared to be to Quentin. Seriously, what is wrong with this man? Ever since they landed and had thrown their luggage in their room all the man did was run around. Did he have too much coffee? Is he a 5-year-old on a sugar rush?

The absolute worst part of this was that Quentin didn’t even have to be here if Bond could do his fucking job but no, oh no sir, the man could speak multiple languages fluently, mimic accents, blow up buildings and his whole equipment in the progress but he couldn’t get the prototype code on his own and sent it to MI6. 

If Bond or any of the 00 for a fact shared more than a single brain cell they would be able to solve their technical problems themself. It was not as Bond needed to interpret the code or write a countermeasure himself. He just needed to get it safely to MI6 for inspection. But the usual tactic of grabbing whatever it was stored on and taking it so the technicians could work their magic was not an option as this informant was well known for frying his hard drive if he lost it. So securing the device, getting through the protective layers, and copying the code on another device or sending it right to MI6 if the freaking internet held up, it was. Q branch had tools for the agents to do just that, no thinking required, just following a simple list of steps and activating tools at a certain time maybe tip a simple command, which was also on the list. 

But no they needed someone with actual skill to come along and get the actual information because of how much of a failure the last advanced computer training course for the 00s had been. Sadly this time the job fell to Quentin. Curse you Barry for distracting him with a muffin just so you could flee in time and have someone else take your place. If Quentin hadn’t had forgotten to eat for the past 2 days he wouldn’t have been so mesmerized by the squashed blueberry muffin to be caught by Tanner. 

But it had been so delicious, maybe it was that Quentin was just starving or Barry was just such a great baker but the muffin was one of the best Quentin had ever tasted. He would have to bully Berry in baking him a bunch in return of making him suffer like this. Everybody knew Quentin hated going outside. Talking with people who were clearly so much under his intelligence level was tiring plus the sun. Who was stepping out in the sun voluntarily? Bond apparently because the man could never wait for it to turn to nighttime before storming out. Did the man have not the slightest idea how easily Quentin burned? Apparently not because Bond has to run around in the midday heat and Quentin was not allowed to wait in their shitty hotel room with the bad air conditioning.

And the damn bloke never had the commons sense to wait for the normal guy who wasn’t used to running marathons and who was the only damn person here who could actually use the device once they got it. So even if Bond managed to locate their target first he would just have to wait for Quentin anyway. 

Quentin turned into the site passage into which Bond vanished into nearly slipping on some old newspaper which someone had clearly thrown away days ago, cursing whoever had built a city like this. There was no sign of the other man as he must have clearly moved in one of the many streets branching out forgetting about Quentin again. 

You see a 00 would now either run like a maniac searching every possible alley and exhausting themself or use whatever mysterious sense they all seemed to have that let them follow people by scent or something. At least, they manage to follow a trail like a damn mutt. But you see Quentin was not a 00, he was Q branch minion and a damn good one, so he was neither stupid nor keen on running around and he didn’t have to because he actually thought and made plans which didn’t involve just shooting till a) the problem went away or b) everything exploded. 

He pulled out his phone and activated an application he had put in the middle of the start screen and after just a few seconds to calibrate and connect with a satellite he could see Bond’s actual position on a very nice and helpful map of the mace which was these alleys. It was very convenient. 

Why MI6 didn’t just go ahead and chipped every single 00 so they couldn’t pull their famous vanishing act was a mystery to Quentin, something about human rights on some other bullshit. But with the legal concerns forbidding him to just put a micro transmitter into Bond’s bloodstream he had to get creative. He had simply used the arsenal in his disposal to come up with a less permanent, and therefore punishable, way to chip bond namely a cat collar with GPS function.

It had been freshly bought for his adorable baby from his last paycheck so he would be able to check up on her when work was taking long. The hot pink color, which looked beautiful against Lady Elise’s long white fur was a perfect fit around Bond’s wrist like a bracelet replacing the man’s usual watch. Sadly the function of checking your pet's vitals was not working on Bond - Q would have to make an upgrade for it when he implemented this system in every single of the 00 watches he could get his hands one. He would be the absolute hero of Q branch and probably most other departments as well. Maybe he could make a deal with medical to get some perks if he slipt them the location of 00s ‘missing’ their appointment.

Although the bracelet had a very apparent weakness compared to an implanted chip. Namely, a 00 being a 00 and doing exactly what they are told not to do like, taking of said bracelet or destroying everything given to them by Q branch which included the bracelet. Okay technically it was given and paid for by Quentin and the branch didn’t know but it was all the same. It was lovely tech a 00 could and would destroy. 

But to his surprise Bond hadn’t torn it off the first chance he got given how terrible it clashed with his suit and that it didn’t even tell the time. Instead, he had just looked proudly like a child with a new toy and hadn’t taken it off once -not even to shower. Bless the company who had accounted for the cat to run through the rain or take an impromptu swim in a puddle. 

Quentin didn’t think Bond knew what the collar did, it looked thin and unassuming enough so he didn’t understand why the man liked it so much. Just that he would probably not get it back after this mission which meant he would need to save up to buy a new one for Lady Elise because these things weren’t cheap. And that he would be able to track 007 no matter where the man went, which was fine. Quentin would just ignore the possibility until the man turned off his tracker during missions and not follow his movement when the man wasn’t of the clock like a stalker. Plus this gave him a life subject to test the vital tracking option. The changes should be easy enough with the collar sitting right over the pulse point.

He followed the signal down some stairs and into an underground walkway next to a canal because God knew it would be to easy if villains used normal streets for once. He kept close to the wall not wanting to take an impromptu dip despite how warm it had been outside just seconds ago and moved forward just aided by the light of his phone. Which was why he almost stepped on the man in question as Bond kneeled on the floor hidden by the shadows. Quentin failed and ended up leaning on the man’s shoulder while the hand with the pink band snuck around his arm stabilizing him while the other caught Quentin's falling phone.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, Bond?"

“Good to see you, Q.” 

Bond pronounced the code name mockingly. And okay it had been a bit petty of Quentin to not tell Bond his name but he had been pissed and  **on a** **_plane_ ** . Plus with how cautious Bond was with his own name, Quentin didn’t want every single enemy of MI6 to know his name at the end of the week. But he was a reasonable man so he could easily admit that his alias hadn’t been the best. He had been grumpy and had taken several pills against his panic so he hadn’t thought of something like Bob because that was stupid anyway but had just shortened his own name to Q. He didn’t mean any disrespect to the actual Quartermaster. There could be multiple Q’s. Accounting had at least three Bills after all. 

“Bond," the man just ignored Quentin's annoyed tone and looked up to him with a cheeky grin on his face. It set Quentin’s nerves on fire. Oh no. This never meant something good. Bond was up to something very very stupid and he would drag Quentin down with him. 

“Look what I found while you enjoyed the sights.”

Excuse me?! Quentin had not enjoyed the sights. In fact, he hadn't really seen anything from the city besides their shitty hotel room, even shittier alleyways and the bloody awful places where they good their terrible food. People always complained about how much the 00s wasted on luxury while on missions but as soon as Quentin came along everything was just shite. He would have loved a long soak in a luxurious tube in a five-star hotel to help his aching muscles but the small craped shower in their  **shared** room didn't even have decent pressure.

He finally got over his mental rant which hadn’t been as mental as he had thought if he could believe the deep laugh lines on Bond’s face and the clearly amused and a bit exasperated expression. Quentin's eye fell on the case or rather the laptop in said case. The case which seemed to match the one their target had carried around perfectly. Which was good because that meant mission freaking accomplished and no more running. What was concerning was the lag of a dead body. Not that Quentin wished for one to be here, he rather kept his screen between himself and that but the case wouldn't just have sat here unattended. Perhaps the currier was just drifting in the water or something after all not even a reckless 00 could be that stupid.

“....Bond? How did you get this?”

Please, please, please. Let it be the reward of an epic and over the top hand to hand battle (they gave their agents guns for a reason) and not just something conveniently placed here.

“Found it.”

“Y-You found it? FOUND IT? LIKE JUST LAYING HERE?”

“Jup,” Bond popped the p and Quentin wished he could bash the man's head in, in hope, it would regrow with a bit more bain inside when the man ultimately returned from the dead.

“You just found the case, we have been after for days. DAYS. Without any success I may add, just laying around in a shady underground tunnel without any protection and you thought you would just check it out?”

“Yes?” Bond was sounding a bit unsure now which was great because he wasn’t as hopeless as Quentin had already started to fear. Not even his beautiful blue eyes could have made up such insolence.

“Are you perhaps short of a marble?! Did it never NEVER even occur to you in your small insignificant animal brain that this could be a trap?! To kill you? TO KILL ME?  **ME?!** ” 

“You are not that important,  _ Q _ .”

**HOW DARE HE!**

“HOW DARE YOU! I will have you know I’m one of the most important and qualified members of Q branch short only to the Quartermaster himself. I’m a very attractive target and my demise would be a great loss to six.”

“Mhh I will give you attractive, but would it really be  _ that much _ of an inconvenience?”

“YES.”

“And what it is our noble second in command doing exactly to be so irreplaceable?”

“That is classified.”

“I have the clearance.” 

“Well, maybe I just don’t feel like sharing with a simpleton that tries to get us killed.”

“Maybe you just don’t have anything to share.”

“Really you absolute insulting  **piece of** -”

Quentin's rant came to an abrupt end as the laptop case started beeping and the on/of light on the site of the device itself started blinking rabidity. 

“ **Fuuuuuc-** ”

Q suddenly found himself pressed against a very well-muscled chest as Bond sprinted away from the trap which had turned out to be a bomb, how original. At least the man didn’t expect Quentin to run for his life himself but put his amazing thighs to good use. 

And then they were suddenly airborne, the loud bang startling Quentin and he pressed his eyes closed praying that they were far enough away. Hopefully Bond had managed to pull another of his last-minute miracles out of his hat and they would be fine. 

He could feel the heat of the flames licking on his fingers, which were clawed into the back of Bond’s neck. Oh god, please please please don’t let them get hurt. Quentin hated pain. Suddenly all the grotesque images of his security training, when he was finally allowed to work with explosions in Q branch, floated in front of his inner eye. The burned flesh, the stained bones, the peeling skin which wouldn’t heal.

He was terrified.

They suddenly twisted and Quentin landed hard on a warm surface. Not daring to move he just held onto Bond whimpering and sobbing. This was completely different than watching an explosion from afar and behind secured glass.

God this had been the worst moment of his life. He would never absolutely never go into the field ever again. The world may end but Quentin wouldn’t give a single fuck, and stay inside.

“You can let go now.”

**FUCK BOND!**

Quentin glared daggers at the man and just crawled his fingernails even deeper into the soft flesh of the other's neck. Fuck him very much.

How could the man sound so calm? Just slightly out of breath from running but no panic in his voice. Quentin hated him. He hated him so much. He wished he could turn back time and push the man back into the explosion so he would feel all the fear Quentin had felt and would suff- 

No. NO, bad thoughts. Very bad thoughts. This wasn’t Bond’s fault. Expect that it totally was but the man hadn’t meant to get Quentin nearly killed and he had saved them after all. He had carried Quentin all the way to safety, took the most of the shockwave, and had even cushioned Quentin’s fall. 

He wasn’t the bad guy here. The actual bad guy, the one setting traps in the form of bombs was the bad guy, he was just not here for Quentin to scream at and let out his fear in the form of aggression.

“Aw, shite. Don’t cry. Please.”

Quentin rubbed over his face not wanting to show any more weakness and embarrass himself. It would be painful enough once Tanner kicked him out for disappointing and failing to rain the 00 in.

He got up his body aching even more. Luckily he wouldn’t have to run around again tomorrow. Unluckily he would have to explain to Tanner why their mission was a failure and take a very uncomfortable and scary plane ride back to London.

“Let’s just go back to our room and clean up, we smell like we were caught in a bonfire. Mhh, do you think we should get seafood tonight? I saw a nice restaurant on our way here not to far from the hotel which had really good looking food and I kinda want to test it out. Or is seafood not your thing? We could always go for pasta instead. Everyone likes pasta.”

“How can you be so chatty? We nearly  **died** . Our mission was a failure. I might lose my job.”

Bond just smirked at him and revealed a device issued to him in preparation of the mission to store the data, even if no one in Q branch thought he would get to use it with Quentin by his side being able to get through the security and sent it directly to six via his phone or laptop.

“Wait you copied the data? You knacked the password and copied the data? ”

“Jup. I did pay attention to the last seminarl even with the instructor being rather distracting.”

“But how?”

"I will tell you when you tell me your real name,  _ Q _ . Still pretty pretentious I must say. Our old Quartermaster is still alive and well."

“Suck a bloody dick, Bond.”


	2. Outside the comfort zone (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So basically Bond following Q up on sucking the bloody dick. But with lots of emotion and talk about feelings and emotions.  
> (This means the chapter has smut and graphic description of sex. If you are not into that or under 18, then pease just skip it. You have been warned)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, my first attempt on writing actual smut for a fic and it turned very emotional but at least I tried. And because I can never keep anything short it turned way longer than anticipated which is why the Shorts are now not so Shorts anymore.
> 
> I tried to do a whole bunch of formating for this one and I'm not sure if it worked out alright or if it just turned into a chaotic mess, so please let me know for the future.

In the end, they forgo going to the seafood place or any other restaurant, much to Bond’s great disappointment. How the man could be so excited in the prospect of going out in public to stuff his face after nearly being blown up was a mystery to Quentin. Although he mused the man could use the calories with all the running they had done, his Adonis body was very handsome but lacked any fat reserves.

  


Quentin’s body on the other hand was not as ridiculously ripped but rather a bit wiry and it had been trained through years of constant neglect to ignore hunger and go on for days without food. And subjecting oneself to the stress and effort to interact with other people and pretend to be a functioning human being for something as low prioritized as a meal was just so much of a bother. 

  


He just wanted a mediocre warm shower, he liked his skin unscorched thank you very much, with the low water pressure the hotel provided to get off the sweat and grim, put a bandaid and some antiseptics on his shoulder(who was he kidding he didn’t have either of that), sent a message to MI6 so he wouldn't be bothered and sleep for the next 20 hours.

  


And the first part of his plan had started out great, apparently being in a hot ass country in a shitty hotel with exposed pipes on the roof meant endless amounts of hot water, which lessened the pain of his strained muscles but sadly did nothing for his forming bruises. He was just not made for fieldwork.

  


But it all went downhill quickly from there like everything always tended to do. His injured shoulder screamed in agony when the tender flesh was hit by water and he wished he could just leave it as it was but that would only cause more discomfort in the long run. So Quentin gritted his teeth and powered through ignoring the slightly pink water running down his arm and concentrated on washing all the dirt and small stone splinters out the best he could. 

  


He knew that this wasn’t the proper way to treat a wound but he had never said he was great when it came to first aid or had any self-preservation instinct. Now that they had the prototype they would return back to MI6 tomorrow, so it was not like he would just leave it like that. Only till he was back in headquarters and could visit medical because he didn’t just skip out on having a medical exam like it was a national sport as agents tended to do. 

  


The warm water in his wound had been painful but once the shampoo hit the grazing it was pure anguish and he couldn’t stop a pained scream which dropped of into sobs as the wound continued to burn even after he had stumbled out of the stream. 

  


Fuck, **Fuck, FUCK** . This was the absolute worst. Next time Tanner came to him with  _ just a simple and easy extraction mission no worries you will be back before you know it _ , Quentin would slap down his resignation...in Tanner’s face...with his fist inside the paper.

  


He gingerly dried himself, careful not to add pressure to any bruises and avoid his shoulder entirely. He didn’t bother to put on a top and just went out in a pair of soft pajama bottoms. Bond didn’t have a right to complain as the man slept only in boxers even if they shared a bed. Yes, their hotel was so shitty they had only a small room with one single bed. Or maybe it was not the hotel that was shitty but Quentin’s coworkers who were playing a prank or getting back at him for insulting their intelligence. Either way, they were both grown-ups (yes even Bond with his 5-year-old attitude) and could be mature enough to not make a fuss about it. But Q would totally steal Bond’s side tonight to avoid laying on his hurt shoulder and yes by now they had sides.

  


To his surprise when he stepped out of the bathroom Bond was waiting for him, with his suit jacket off, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a medkit sitting next to him. Because naturally the 00 not only anticipated blood on this mission and came prepared but also noticed that Quentin was injured and wouldn’t take care of it if left alone. He wouldn’t complain but gladly take the box and try to figure it out. Slapping some disinfectant and a bandage on couldn’t be so hard. But Bond just patted the bed next to him and Quentin resigned to his fade and sat down leaving his care in the other man’s hand. At least Bond had a ton of experience with sewing himself up. Even if medical sometimes cried over the dental floss he used at least the stitches were neat and steady. 

  


He hissed when Bond used the tweezers to get some splinters out that the water had missed and hit his shoulder with a cotton ball and disinfectant but the man was surprisingly gentle and delicate. And after some ointments and bandaged it hurt a lot less and his mobility was still mostly there. 

  


“Thank yo-” Q shrieked when suddenly there was something cold on his lower back. He twisted around as much as he could to see what the hell Bond was doing. The man was messaging a salve into the worse of his forming bruises, the cold making them better instantly and Quentin would bet that there was also some sort of local anesthesia in it. Bond worked his way up Quentin's back and to the other shoulder which had only gotten a slight run-in with a wall. When he came to his forearms and front Quentin stopped him.

  


“I-I can do that.” He snatched the salve from Bond and began to put it on himself not wanting to show Bond his heated face. Thank god for loose pants and bedsheets. Bond’s hands were pure magic and Quentin didn’t need this form of embarrassment in his carrier. Naturally Bond had to be a 00 and mess everything up by getting out another type ointment and putting it on Quentins hands. 

  


He just hoped Bond would go shower and leave him alone to go sleep before he did something stupid like kissing the man senseless. He blamed it on the adrenalin. He didn’t find Bond’s bare arms or the skin he could see thanks to the first few buttons being undone attractive. And he didn’t feel cherished by Bond taking care of his wound for sure. And the fact that the man still wore the pink collar around his wrist marking him as Quentin’s had absolutely nothing to do with it.

  


Just when Bond didn’t bother to move and Quentin’s last resistance was breaking and he was leaning forward when they were disturbed by someone knocking at the door and if Quentin’s Italien wasn’t failing him saying something about food. 

  


Quentin looked at Bond with startled wide eyes ready to do... _ something _ , he had only spent a week with a field agent and had already become paranoid expecting to be shoot at every second.  _ Great. _ But he couldn’t remember this place even having room service,  _ it didn’t even have WLan for fucks sake _ , and it was suspicious for sure that they obtained the information and someone was  _ conveniently _ knocking on their door shortly after. But the agent at his side didn’t seem worried or got his weapon out but went for his wallet instead to answer the door focused on shielding the view of Quentin with his much larger body. 

  


He returned to the bed loaded with bags of food of some restaurant if the logo on them was to believe. He dropped them on the bed and started staking Q’s lab with containers and a fork before getting something himself. 

  


Quentin hadn’t really wanted to eat and this still held true but Bond had gone through the trouble of ordering food to the hotel and Quentin didn’t want to be an arse...more than usual at least. He opened the first container to find a small portion of Caprese Salad with Pesto Sauce, he sniffed it and found it smells absolutely divine, and it wasn’t something to heavy so it should be fine, _ right? _ He could just take some bites until Bond was satisfied. After his first hesitate forks of food, he couldn’t stop himself anymore and started stuffing his face. 

  


He groaned in pleasure. This was just so good. Screw Barry and his muffin, this was way better. _Maybe fieldwork wasn’t so bad if he could get food like this?_ So delicious. Bond had been onto something with his post-mission dinner. **_Fuck_** _, why had he put up with the shit they ate the last days when he could have gotten something like this?_

  


He annihilated some Focaccia Bread, Risotto, Vegetable Lasagna, and to finish Pistachio Panna Cotta. He was stuffed full and happy and didn't protest when Bond, who was eating at a way slower and civilized peace took the cartons and fork out of his hands and guided him back so he was resting on top of the blankets. He must have dozed off because when he came to the remnants of their meal were gone as was Bond and the shower was running. 

  


Q was way too drowsy to think and just blinked at the bathroom door until it opened and steam poured out. Someone’s calves appeared and then another one. The were nice calves. Quentin slowly followed the defined lines of wet muscles up and up and up and up till he choked when he reached the crotch and more important the cock resting there.

  


“ **WHAT THE HELL BOND?!** ”

  


Startled Bond looked into Quentin's eyes before very slowly using one hand to shield  _ some _ of it. 

  


“I thought you were asleep.”

  


“ _ Oh, everything is fine then _ . You thought I was asleep after all. Then there is no problem with you coming stake naked to bed, you know  **the one we share?** What is it with you 00 and exhibition streaks?”

  


Bond had the audacity to  _ pout _ . Literally pout. He was a grown man for fucks sake. He shouldn’t pout and it shouldn’t look so freaking kissable. 

  


“Geez Q, don’t be such a prude, I just sleep better when I’m nude. It is not like I humped your leg.”

  


Quentin blushed. He could feel the heat spreading over his face and down his neck before his body decided that it could be put to use way better somewhere else and he blanched in terror as it collected in his groin. He should have crawled under the blankets when he woke up, now he could just awkwardly turn in hope that the half-drawn blinds made the room dark enough to hide the bulge in his trousers.

  


“G-go suck a  **fucking** dick, Bond.”

  


“You shouldn’t say something like this, Q. _ Someone  _ is going to take you up on that one day,” Bond chuckled while moving closer to the bed leaning over Quentin.

  


Quentin wanted to hide his face because there was no way Bond didn’t see his erection in this position but he couldn't turn his eyes away from Bond's own. It was big, no surprise there, but astonishingly it was also half hard just like Quentin’s. It seems like he wasn’t the only one affected by post-mission adrenalin. Not that Bond would do something about this with Quentin, he was a womanizer through and through and Quentin was neither sexy nor fit Bond’s usual taste which meant Bond was teasing him and had no intention of following through. And oh boy Quentin was not going to back down. Bond would find out why you didn’t mess with a sassy boffin.

  


“Nah, I think  _ they  _ are too much of a  _ coward _ so I’m safe.”

  


He gasped in shock as Bond ducked down in a fluid motion, pulled the front of Quentin’s pants down, and took half of his length into his mouth in one swift move. 

  


“ **Wha** \- What the- Bo- _ ahhhh _ . Hah.”

  


_ Shiiiit. _ Quentin had been wrong. Bond was neither bluffing nor exclusive with women if he could believe the ease with which he took cock, bopping his head up and down taking in more and more while sucking and pressing his tongue to the underside.

  


“ **Shit, shit, shit** . Ahh.”

  


Bond just hummed in agreement the noise vibrating through Quentin’s dick making him shudder and squirm. But then Bond drew back, Quentin’s cock nearly sliding out of his mouth completely and Quentin couldn’t help the displeased whine. He tried to buck to get the sensation back but Bond put a hand on his hip easily pressing him in the sheets and holding him in place, which did nothing to stop Quentin’s struggle. However, the hard pressure of teeth did the trick and Quentin went completely still not daring to move anymore. After a few seconds of this with Quentin’s pulse racing in his ears Bond started nibbling on the skin softly before placing a soft kiss to the very tip.

  


When Bond’s lips left his cock Quentin thought  _ this was it. _ Bond had proved his point and had shown once again that he was the best and now he would leave him like this to take care of the problem himself like an idiot and act like it never happened. 

  


But instead, Bond’s tongue darted out licking a wet strip from his balls to his very tip only to repeat the gesture a bit to the left. Only this time his tongue pressed against Quentin’s slit and wiggled until Quentin moaned. Bond continued licking leaving wet traces all over Quentin’s cock until he was back at the top and fucking drooled. Quentin shivered as he could feel the spit slowly drip down his length all the way to the hair at the base, leaving cold traces in their wake as it started to dry.

  


But the cold wetness was soon covered by Bond’s warm hand, the rough calluses made by years of fighting and handling a gun scratching Quentin’s sensitive skin. The movement started slowly smearing all the spit around evenly before picking up on speed and increasing the pressure. The pink band around his wrist swung with the movement and bruised against Quentin’s hip bone. While he was pumping with his hand Bond sucked on Quentin’s balls making him whimper from just how much and how good it was.

  


Figures. Bond couldn’t do anything half-heartedly he had to be always the best and it would have pissed Quentin off in any other situation. But he could appreciate it if it was put to use like  _ that _ .

  


His fingers, which till this point had gripped the bedsheets in a futile quest hold on moved to Bonds hair first petting and then gripping strong and tucking. But instead of swaddling his hands away or threatening to bite his dick off again, Bond groaned deeply and tilted his head. Which did interesting things to Quentin’s cock.

  


Quentin very awkwardly - he shouldn’t have skipped the last fitness program of Q branch- leaned up leaving most of his weight on his forearm with the good shoulder to get a good look at Bond before very deliberately and slowly moving his fingers from Bond’s hair into his nape, and low and behold Bond lowered his head so his nose was pressed against Quentin’s balls. Q massaged the skin for a moment increasing the blood flow before tracing a straight red line with the nail of his index finger, which thanks to his sharp nails had a few droplets of blood escaping it. And Bond just moaned deeply his hand around Q’s cock twitching

  


_ This was super hot, who would have thought Bond could shiver under his hands like that?  _ Quentin sat up fully his stomach muscles pulling tight as he moved his fingers down Bond's neck and to his shoulder. He traced a swirl on the shoulder not breaking the skin this time just teasing.

  


But when Bond resumed his pumping and started to kiss and nip his way up Quentin's hip bone sucking in bruises on the way Quentin stopped holding himself upward and feel forward so he was leaning over Bond and could claw both his hands in the man’s flesh. This only urged Bond on to move his hand even faster bringing Quentin closer and closer to the edge till he came with a cry spilling all over Bond’s finger and chin while his fingers left bloody trails on Bond’s back. His muscles twitched in shook without any power and he just slumped together collapsing on Bond which leaned up and caught him easily enough with one arm to reel him in against his chest, Quentin’s head coming to rest against a shoulder.

  


**Overstimulated** . That was the only word to describe how Quentin felt. All his thoughts, plans, and ideas which usually ran wild had come to a sudden stop and there was nothing but a blank satisfaction and happiness. Regret would come later but for now, Quenti was just content with the situation and enjoyed listening to the other's breath falling in a dazed state.

  


He traced some of the angry red lines marveling how hot they were under his fingers until Bond let out a chopped of whimper. Quentin let a hand wander down and between their bodies and,  _ yeeep _ , still hard as a rock and leaking. 

  


_ What was the course of action in such a situation? Did he just jerk him off too? Suck his cock? Let him be to take care of it himself _ \- his university and bar fling sure were found of this option.  _ Or would they, you know...have sex now? _ Quentin lacked a definite point of data which wasn’t a frat party or in the back alley of a gay bar and his muddy brain didn’t help to take the sensible action, aka flee into the bathroom, look the door, scream and then come out and go to bed while acting as it never happened. 

  


Bond would probably want to have sex,  _ right? _ He seemed like a sex type. At least from what Quentin had picked up during mission handling and from how much time Bond had taken with making Quentin come, it did seem like a sex thing. No one did what Bond had just done for a messy handjob in return. _ Sooooo sex _ .

  


Quentin surprisingly wasn't as against it as he had thought. There was the whole workplace thing, but they wouldn’t start dating lovey-dovey and no one would know of this one-time thing and with this, in mind, it was not like Quentin would be heartbroken if he was just another notch in Bond’s bedpost. 

  


Sure he would have loved to be on top for once and he couldn’t deny that the imagination of dominating a man like Bond and leaving his mark all over him was very very tempting but he was well aware that this would just have to stay a dream. He didn’t think bad about himself, far from it, many coworkers even though he was quite taken with himself but he just couldn't compare with a man like Bond. He lacked experience when it came down to both relationships and sex and he didn’t look like he had just stepped down the runway. 

  


Bond was obviously an experienced top with lots know-how when it came to women but with how he had turned Quentin into a shivering mess he seemed to be also open to men and not any less experienced or in control with them than with women. Which meant it would be a way better and less hurtful experience then he had ever had with any of the drunk frat boys he actually ended up doing it with all the way. And Bond had already proven that he didn’t leave his partner hanging but put their needs before his own. Plus the prospect of riding Bond and getting to push him into the sheets with his weight was kinda exciting. 

  


After this monologue, his muscles had decided to turn back from jelly to actual useable and he easily pushed away from Bond and let himself fall back, landing in the sheets with an uff, spreading his arms in a hopefully inviting ‘ _ here I am, come and get me _ ’ gesture. And even if it was neither attractive nor inviting, it was  **Bond** . 

  


Not some hot guy in a bar he was trying to seduce to find someone he didn’t kick to the curve after some making out for bad performance or their personality. Bond had seen him stumble through back alleys, panic in face of an explosion - he didn’t cry, no matter what Bond said, there was no proof, and stuff his face full of Italian food in the most unattractive way. And he had still sucked Quentin’s dick like it was the best thing in the world, _ so go Quentin _ . 

  


The point he was trying to make here was that Quentin didn’t have to impress or try to win Bond over. Which was very relaxing and also kinda disappointing. It had taken so little effort to get the blow job compared to previous ones and they couldn’t even try to compete with the one from Bond, as that one had been the best blow job of his life. Now Quentin would always compare everything to it and find out the effort wasn’t worth the end result.

  


Bond moved on top of him easily holding himself up with just one hand **the show off.** But before Quentin could put his foot in his mouth and tell the man just that the world was spinning. 

  


“Uff.”

  


He found himself laying on top of Bond’s sculpted chest until the man pushed against his shoulders helping him lift up till he found his balance and was straddling Bond’s middle with his hands resting on Bond’s peaks. They were nice, perfect for being grabbed and Quentin was just a man and could appreciate simple joys like massaging a good build chest. 

  


_ So maybe Bond was telepathic?  _ At least it would explain how he always know if someone was lying to him and how he had known that Quentin wanted to sit on Bond’s dick. Which was very nice because Quentin would have died in embarrassment if he had to actually ask Bond. But instead of doing whatever a sex machine like him did to get his partner ready the man leaned back and folded his arms behind his back. That lazy potato. Not that Quentin could resent him for it. They view he had of the man sprawled out in front of him was fantastic.

  


“Lube and condoms are under the pillow to your left.”

  


“Pretty pretentious of you to expect this night to go this way.” 

  


Bond just smirked 

  


“I’m one of the best agents in the world, Q. I took them out of the nightstand and put them there when you were to out of it from me sucking your dick.”

  


Quentin grumbled but he couldn’t fool Bond’s logic and it was true he had been pretty distracted. And no, he had been preoccupied, Bond wasn’t just that good as an agent and in the bedroom for Quentin not to notice. Especially if he let Quentin do all the work and just decided to lay there like a  _ fucking Queen _ . Bastard probably didn’t know how hard it was to get a good angle that gave enough access but that didn’t hurt your fingers after a few minutes when doing it yourself. Especially in a position like this sitting on someone. If Quentin’s hand did cramp up he would kick Bond out of their room butt-naked to find someone else. He didn’t enjoy finger cramps and with his job being in Q branch it happened way too often. 

  


“Just, Q?”

  


“Mhh,” he gave a nonanswer while opening the tube of lube, still sealed and unused.

  


“Be careful... it has been a while for me.”

  


….

  


_ what? _

  


_ Was he hearing things? _ He must have been. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all if he was this exhausted and imagined things already. That usually only happens after working nonstop for two days and even then he could mostly ignore it.

  


But there was a slight dust of pink coloring Bond’s cheeks and even if the man meets his eyes it wasn’t as comfortable as usual.

  


_ He couldn’t seriously mean? _

  


Quentin slowly slid to the right not even attempting to counteract his momentum and fell just unceremoniously from Bond’s chest. Or he would have fallen if the super-agent reflexes hadn’t kicked in and Bond didn’t get both hands around Quentin’s waist to keep him upright.

  


“W-what?” Quentin’s voice was thin and throaty and  _ no Bond it was not squeaky shut up _ . 

  


Now Bond just looked on guard and starred Quentin straight in the eyes with a fierceness.

  


“I said what I said.”

  


“But why would you want to do  _ that _ ,” wow this was a really angry frown and suddenly he could understand people calling Bond a killer, “with me. I don’t really have a reputation for being good with this.”

  


And they were back from ‘ _ I will rip your throat out _ ’ to ‘ _ you are the dirt on the bottom of my overpriced designer shoes’ _ .

  


“What you only wanna fuck if I do the fucking because of my  **oh so great reputation** ? Prag about being a notch in the bedpost of the **great Bond** ? Tell everyone how great I was in bed? That’s it?”

  


The usual and sensible approach after pissing of a trained to kill 00 would be to beg and apologize, defuse the situation and get some space till the beast had calmed down again. But Quentin had neither common sense nor a functioning brain to mouth filter, being caught so off guard (yes he did, in fact, have one in his regular life when not sleep deprived. Not using it when faced with stupidity was a deliberate choice). But with his filter offline for now what came out was neither an excuse nor pacifications.

  


“ **Fuck no!** You know the first time I saw you my thought was I would tap that if I ever got the chance...don’t look at me like that... **stop it** ...you know if you keep that up the frown will be permanent and that would be a real shame with a face like that...fine, fine...my first thought was wow what a hunk of a man.  _ And then _ I want to fucking bent him over my bloody desk and fuck him so thoroughly he has to go to medical. Which is basically the same as I would tap that,” and now he was babbling. The sad thing about not having a brain to mouth filter was that you quickly came to regret your decision and couldn't take it back. Or you could but no way in hell Quentin would apologize for something he said. He had made his bed and now he was laying down in it. Or more like dancing the macarena on it while screaming on top of his lungs. There was no stopping him now.

  


**“Heck** do you even realize how bad I wanted to put my dick in you after you sucked me cock like a champ, best blowjob ever btw, and moaned like that when I scratched you? The only reason why I didn’t just push you down and devoured you was that you are a big ass hunk and I lack the muscles to maneuver your nice ass around.”

  


And because he was really giving Bond a piece of his mind: “And you never took the collar off, because yes this nice baby pink bracelet which clashes so wonderfully with your suit is a collar, for a cat but still. I thought you were the biggest cock tease on the planet. I looked up offers for collars that would actually fit you and your style, which will get me in a lot of shit if anyone would check my phone post-mission.”

  


“You...actually want to fuck me. Just because you find me hot?”

  


“Well _ duuuuh _ . Have you looked in a mirror, like ever? And I’m not that much of a liar that I can pretend it is for your great and charming personality because _ newsflash _ you are a bastard. But hey so am I. We match **hurray** . But your lack of restraint and my sass match and we still haven’t murdered each other despite being flocked together for a week so even better. I just didn’t know if you would be into  _ that _ ” he made a vague gesture that could describe his body or all of him including his weird personality.

  


There was stunned silence as Bond just stared at him and Quentin didn’t really know what to do next. Bond didn’t really look like he was about break his neck or like Quentin was scum so he did something right but he couldn’t understand how telling the man that he found him very fuckable and that he could put up with him being a bastard was something he wanted to hear.

  


He shifted around nervously noticing some poking and after some more movement wetness seeping through his pants

  


“...did me rambling like this really make you so hard you are basically soaking me in precome?”

  


“...it was sexy?”

  


“ **WHICH PART?!”**

  


“I...don't often get the chance to let go of control...in my job or personal life. There are always dangers, schemes I have to be aware of or expectations I need to fill. Finding someone who won’t take advantage...has been _ difficult _ .”

  


“Oh, you better bet I will take full advantage of your arse.”

  


Even if he liked sitting on Bond and holding him down with his weight (there was no way Quinten would stay on top if Bond didn’t want it) he had to get this show on the road. He moved down with the lube pushing down his now very sticky pants all the way and kicked them away to land...somewhere. He was in awe at how easily Bond’s legs parted for him as he kneeled down between them. He grabbed one of the thighs because it was just so grabbable with all the muscles and pushed it a bit open a bit more just to see if he could and if Bond would really let him do this his way and low and behold it easily moved. A rush of satisfaction and power floated Quentin. 

  


Bond’s dick was really impressive, rock hard, and leaking it was long and thick with veins. Quentin was very glad that he didn’t have to take it right now because he would be too sore to move the next day. But the dick wasn't Quentin's focus even if he could easily get behind trying to deepthroat it as a challenge.

  


He coated his fingers with some lube rubbing them together to warm it up faster, using it cold was just rude and startling before slowly spreading it between Bond’s cheeks. He just rubbed over the spot with a finger over and over again giving Bond time to get used to it only for the man to choke every time Quentin's nail brushed over his rim.

  


“Q-q.”

  


Quentin just hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t speed up whatsoever. Bond had said it has been a while and even if the man enjoyed a bit of pain Quentin would be very slow and through not taking any chances. Plus he quite enjoyed taking Bond’s breath away like this and he would at least try to find where the point was that reduced a man like Bond, trained to resist torture, to begging. 

  


He circled the hole a few times before putting slight pressure against it but not enough to sink in.

  


“Relax. You are way to stiff.” 

  


“ _ I am relaxed _ ”, Quentin just hummed not even giving this ridiculous claim an answer. Bond may look relaxed but Quentin could feel the thigh in his hand size up momentarily before Bond tried to relax again. No way he was risking Bond sizing up around his finger getting hurt in the progress. He stopped teasing Bond for now and just stroke over the tip of Bond’s cock with his fingertip. Bringing Bond to climax would not only drain any tension from his muscles but would also release Oxytocin which was analgesics and would prevent Bond from feeling pain. But Bond had to be difficult and battered his finger away and glared at him. Couldn't he just for once in his life take the easy way?  _ Hah, what was Quentin thinking? _ It was  **Bond** , so naturally, the man couldn’t.

  


But Quentin appreciated being able to put his skill to the test. He leaned forward and started leaving kisses on the soft flesh of Bond’s inner thigh, some just slight brushes of his lips some wet and filthy, but all of them soft. He could see Bond lay back in the corner of his eyes and relax a bit, then he bit down hard. Bond yelped shocked and tried to squirm away on reflex but Quentin had a strong grip on his leg. If the man didn’t want to take the easy way then Quentin wouldn’t hold back for sure. He liked over the heated flash before sucking a mark on it. He continued like this in a mix of nibbling, kissing, sucking, biting, and from time to time a scratch with his sharp fingernails until the whole inside of Bond's left thigh was marked up like the scarred skin of a leopard.

  


Quentin was quite proud of his work if he could say so. It looked quite dashing and wild and fit Bond perfectly. And they were all Quentin’s and wouldn’t fade for quite some time with how dark some of them looked. He had left a mark on Bond and at least until they faded Bond would be all his and no one else would be able to touch him as Quentin had, Bond may be a show-off but even he wouldn’t just let anyone see this. 

  


When he was finally done bathing in his own creation and looked to the man in question he was meet with a surprising sign which traveled straight to his cock. Bond had the cushion pressed to the side of his face, his fingers white from just how hard he was grabbing it. His chest was heaving and the small bit of his lips which poked out behind the cushion was red and swollen from continually biting on on it. His dick wasn’t only hard it was close to bursting, all purple and angry reds, and leaking a continuous stream of precum which left it wet and slippery and collected in his public hair.

  


He looked just debauched and Quentin really wished he could take a photo of this to jerk off to later. Now that he thought about it...there was nothing really stopping him. Bond was hiding behind his cushion and would never know not that you could recognize him anywhere with his face hidden. He very slowly and carefully, to not disturb Bond, leaned over to the nightstand and got his phone, making sure it was on silence and took a few pictures just to make sure he got a few nice ones before throwing it back in the direction of the nightstand, not that it made it but at least neither of them would just put their weight on it. 

  


This time Quentin meets no resistance as he pushed the tip of his finger past the ring of Bond’s muscle. He still waited for Bond to get used to it or show some sort of negative reaction but the body before him stayed limp and docile. He slowly started moving his finger till it was nearly out and pushing back in, always a little bit more. It was a slow progress and especially with how careful Quentin was with every knuckle he pushed in. Bond had floundered a bit trying to get it in deeper and had spread the precum all over his abs with his twitching cock but he had behaved rather well not trying to make it harder on himself or to push Quentin to speed up. Which was rather impressive with how needy and impatient he was but it seemed like he had gotten Quentin's message loud and clear, to just let him do what he thought best.

  


Quentin pulled out his finger making Bond lift his hips a bit as he tried to follow instinctively, and Quentin couldn’t help the chuckle. it was rather cute. He coated two fingers this time with a rich amount of lube and warmed it up before repeating the slow progress until he had both of them in. He curled them, his nails stretching the hot skin inside and Bond just whined, he fucking whined. A needy helpless sound and Quentin was sure if he put his mind on it he could come just from listening to this over and over again. He tried to repeat the motion to lure some more of the delicious noises out from Bonds’ mouth but there was only a gasp for now. Not that this disheartened Quentin as he just continued to tease Bond, scissoring his fingers, rubbing against the walls or brush against the lump of nerves which made Bond flinch every time. All of it drove the sweetest sounds from bond’s lips who at this point had given up hiding, the cushion long slid from his numb fingers and who was now just staring at a point over Quentin's shoulder with a dazed expression.

  


Well, Quentin could just put in his dick now, Bond was relaxed and stretch enough but he just didn’t want to yet. Till now for him, this part had always been a bothersome necessity you quickly rushed through before the main event as his partners hadn’t been able to care less about his feelings when preparing or were too impatient and just pushed him away and did it themself when he had tried to take his time. This was new. And it was **bloody fantastic.** Quentin wished he could go back in time and kick every one of his past flings in the balls for letting him miss out on this. Sex was great don’t get him wrong but this was way more intimate and very very nice. 

  


So instead of getting a condom he just got some more lube and this time he pushed in three fingers all at once with one fluid motion. Bond, or rather James, he had three fucking figures up the man’s ass for god's sake, was loose enough that there was only a minimal stretch which merely made James keen in pleasure and wiggle a bit before settling down. It was marvelous how easy James accepted whatever Quentin gave him now after he could barely relaxed enough to take the tip of a single finger in the beginning. Quentin moved his fingers twisted and turned them, spread them, and widened Bond even more. This time his nails caught on the prostate and when Bond let out a breathless sob Quentin just continued to do it over and over again.

  


“Q-q...ple...ple… **ahh** ….ahh...please… Q… Q-Q, **Q** . I...cock...n-ne...nee...need your...your...p-please….Q in me...pl-plea...please.”

  


He looked at James drinking in his features, the strain on his face and the pleasure, the way he gasped, and his wet wide eyes with the occasional tear and his red snotty nose.

  


He was begging. **HE WAS FUCKING BEGGING** . **James bloody Bond was freaking begging for him, Quentin, to shove his dick up his arse** . While he cried snot and water. 

  


He hadn’t noticed how he flexed his fingers in ecstasy and the next thing he knew was James shouting and spilling cum everywhere. 

  


**He had cum** . Just from Quentin’s fingers...forget going back to MI6 Quentin was kidnapping him. James would just come to in some nice flat Quentin bought under a false name and they would only leave the bedroom to eat and take baths.

  


James was just laying there panting and gasping for air and Quentin could feel himself getting hard, or rather even harder than before and he knew he wouldn’t last long, thanks to his rather short refractory period. 

  


He put a condom on and lubed himself up entering a still overstimulated James as the man himself was still caught in his own orgasm. The withered and shivered trying to get away from all of it and trying to get Quentin deeper inside while sobbing and whimpering. Being inside James felt fantastic, all smoothly wet and tight as the man tried to unconsciously draw him in deeper and clench around him. Quentin had to take a minute to get a hold of himself or he would have come right then and there, which would be an absolute shame now that he was finally inside. He started rolling his hips slowly trying to get a feel for it and testing the waters and got faster steadily increasing until he found a good rhythm. 

  


He leaned forward a bit pushing on hand on James' chest grabbing it before scratching the hard nub. This let him get even deeper brushing James's prostate with every single trust making the man cry out. Quentin’s movement got more and more frantic until he couldn’t hold back anymore spilling in the condom and collapsing forward on James. Having sex with a muscled hunk like Bond was very nice. He could just put all his weight on him and catch his breath without having to worry about crushing him or pissing him off. And being pressed together like this was rather nice he could stay just like this and take a nap while cuddling for...nope, nope,  **nope** .  **Gross no** , way too sticky.  **Urg** he could already feel Bond’s come dry and clump and **eww** . He was not doing this. He would be caught dead before waking up tomorrow with a condom of disgusting dried come on. Plus Bond’s hair was so nice and soft, this room didn’t have enough water pressure to get crusted cum out of his happy trail. 

  


He slowly got back feeling into his limbs and proceed to get his dick out of Bond which turned out to be way harder than getting it in the first place and made both of them groan and whimper in the progress. 

  


The condom was pulled up and tied shut and then disposed of in the garbage in the bathroom, he was no heathen after all who just threw stuff on the floor for others to step on later. They would have to take it with them later to dispose of the DNA properly on their way to the airport, most likely the sheets too...they would just leave a very nice and generous tip. 

  


He picked took a quick 2-minute shower to get everything of himself before getting a washcloth, all the dry towels and a glass of water to dip said cloth in lack of a proper basin and returned to Bond who hadn’t moved at all and was just resting there with his eyes closed. Quentin got him a bottle of water from their supplies in the corner before softly whipping him down with the washcloth getting rid of all the grossness left by their activity. In the end, he got distracted by the marks he left on James’ thigh tracing them with his fingers.

  


“Should I leave you alone with that?”

  


He was shocked by hearing Bond, able to form complete sentences again and couldn’t help the hysterical laugh escaping him.

  


“Jealous?”

  


Bond just chuckled but didn’t move Quentin's hand away which was still resting on his skin. Well if the man was behaving so nicely like that then Quentin saw no reason to pretend this never happened. Instead, he crawled up till he could rest next to Bond his front pressed tightly against the man's side, Quentin’s head resting on the man's shoulder, and his arms worming himself around the agent. There was a moment where Bond went stiff and Quentin already though he crossed some line, which funnily enough wasn’t fucking but cuddling after only a few moments later Bond took a deep breath and turned a bit in his arms so he was facing in his direction and tenderly reached out to put his own arm awkwardly on Quentin's waist. 

  


_ How could a killing machine be so cute and floundering? _ Quentin wanted to coo just like when his cat tried to make an impressive jump and failed instead of landing on the ground and rolling around in an adorable mess of fluff. Quentin really wished he could keep Bond, preferable till forever to take care of and smolder. 

  


Unable to hold back, he buried his hand in Bond’s hair and hummed with how smooth and soft it was. Like petting a Manx. God, Q really wanted another cat now. Lady Elise was really nice and her long fur super silky but it just wasn’t the same.

  


Now that the heat of them making out was gone it was getting cold and Quentin threw the sheets up and got the towels he brought from the bathroom because they were super comfy and nicer than he blanket and made them a very comfortable cocoon, taking extra care that Bond was completely covered and comfortable before resting himself. 

  


His hand found it’s way back into Bond's hair but this time massaging the scalp and leaving soft light kisses where Bond’s shoulder meets the neck. Bond seemed to like it or at least he hummed appreciatively from time to time.

  


“It’s Quentin.”

  


“What?” Bond blinked in his relaxed and dozing state.

  


“My name is Quentin. I decided that you are not a simpleton trying to kill us and that I can actually  _ kinda _ stand you.  **There** . It is Quentin.”

  


“Mhhh Quentin. It starts with a Q,” Bond chuckled as if this was the best joke he had ever heard. “Mhh I must say by now I prefer Q, it has some  _ pleasant memories  _ attached to it. So you should rather make sure to raise rang once Boothroyd retirees.”

  


“Obviously,” Quentin scrunched up his nose in the mere idea he wouldn't be the next leader of Q branch. He was a genius after all.

  


“So, how?”

  


“How?”

  


“How did you get the data? You said you would tell me if I tell you my real name. So tell me.”

  


“I did. I was closing in on the target when I found the case laying on the ground and yes I obviously knew it was a trap I might not be genius with questionable morals but I’m also not dumb. But it had the information we needed so just leaving it was not an option. I suspected the target would wait to catch both of us so I used the time I had till your arrival to inspect it and given that there was no way to automatically register when we would be both in range it had to be done remotely so the target was watching me and had to be close because of the bad visibility. I didn’t notice anyone when I got in so he had to be still in front of me which left me with enough blind spots to use the device you _ so lengthy _ described in the last 00 computer course, quite handy I must say, after memorizing the command list it did all the work with a few presses of a button. This only left playing for time till it was finished before whatever trap snapped shut.”

  


Quentin was very surprised and also attracted by how well thought threw this whole thing had been on Bonds part. He could easily admit that he found intelligence quite attractive.  _ What wasn’t to like about it?  _ And you could appreciate good looks but there had to be at least something behind it for Quentin to get invested. Not that getting invested with Bond was really an option. He had to remind himself that this was a one-time thing no matter how sexy, fuckable, attractive, and cunning Bond was. The man was not in his league and would get back to his old ways after the mission was over.  _ Don’t get attached.  _ **_Remember_ ** _ the time you got taken with the  _ **_supposed_ ** _ stray cat only to find out it had an owner and never see it again. That's right, all the tears and boxes of ice cream. You don’t want that again, right? Then get bloody fucking Bond out of your head and get the realistic part back in there.  _

  


“You were quite faster and more agile than I thought you would be so I had to improvise to keep the targets attention when you arrived and he seemed quite taken by us fighting. I was calling it close but when the device was set to explode I rather wanted **you** out of the blast zone but when I checked later the light on my storage was green which is good right?”

  


“It is very good. You did a really good job.”

  


He patted Bond’s head a few more times before the day finally caught up with him and he sunk into sleep. 

  


~ * ~

  


They were still groggy as they made their way to the airport the next morning, with how little sleep they got but it was so worth it. Bond didn’t have a limb so either he was using his 00 pain tolerance or Quentin had really been that good and careful. They made a short pit stop to get rid of all the large DNA samples mainly the bath garbage, Quentin’s pants, and the sheets Bond style, which meant fire. Quentin had strongly protested an explosion with what he went through the day before and Bond buckled easily setting to make the flames flashy at least. The damage of the fire was minimal and it would burn himself out after a few hours even without the fire department meddling with it which was very tame and harmless for 00 standards so Tanner could shut up about it.

  


Which to his immense surprise he did when he got their report. He was very pleased when the only noticeable injury was Q’s shoulder which Bond took such great care of that the doc which joined them in Tanner's office just gave him a prescription for painkillers and told him to rewrap it for a few days to keep dirt out. Tanner was praising them for their good work and especially Bond for his technical insight joking that he wouldn’t need to send Quentin next time even if they worked so well together. Quentin got rather stiff thinking Tanner knew. Because Tanner always knew everything and that this was now the time he would either get kicked out for sleeping with a coworker on a mission or being laughed at for falling for the charms of a double 0. To his surprise, he revealed that Bond had stopped calling the headquarter to complain about the ‘ _ noise and annoying civilian who couldn’t keep up and was just annoying and loud _ ’ on their second day which was very good in Tanner's book. 

  


Finally, everything was done and they were standing in front of Tanner's office both of them had gotten a few days off to relax. There was an awkward silence as no one knew what to say.  _ Because what do you say to your coworker which you had hated, and then found out that you are both just arseholes and fell in bed together with the other being the best lay ever? _

  


So awkward silence.

  


“So.”

  


“So?”

  


“This was a thing.”

  


“It sure was,” Bond chuckled  **the bastard** . Quentin didn’t see him making any attempts at lifting the mood. 

  


“So I guess I will see you around?”

  


“I would think so.”

  


Quintin waved uncomfortably before deciding that waving at the person standing next to you was stupid and stopped it before turning and fleeing, making a baseline for the elevator, in which Bond thankfully didn’t follow him, and to the cat sitter to get his baby before going home. 

  


He spends his time at home relaxing and coming to terms that he probably had a thing for Bond because he apparently liked the bastard. For his _ personality _ . Sucks to be him he guessed. But at least he had the photos he took of Bond so his nights were very  _ interesting. _

  


It only got intense once he started back at work. Or rather it didn't get intense because everything was the same old. Which was weird. He hadn’t expected everyone to just know and sing it from the roof but at least something. Maybe Bond hanging around the branch more, or shared lunches, they were at least friends... _ friendlyish _ of some sort. But nothing. Guess what the one time he caught  _ the feelings _ for another person that person was matching his inner asshole so much it was not going anywhere. Which meant he had to stomp down the feeling and push it deep down inside with all the other things he chooses to ignore like his abandonment issues, longing for acceptance and so one. It was getting crowded in there.

  


But life went one and if Quentin’s life suddenly contained far more cold showers or gasping Bonds name in the shower only Elise knew and she was a sophisticated lady and not a tattle tail so she would stay quiet about it. 

  


He had known that getting attached would only bring problems and that Bond was way out of his league. it was his own fault and he couldn’t resent the man for giving into the moment and letting adrenalin and curiosity cloud his judgment.

  


But he could have given Quentin back the collar at least. It was not listed anywhere in the MI6 item list so either the man still had it or he threw it away. Which was both quite rude given how expensive it was and even if Quentin would never be able to look at it the same way he would like it back. He could always sell it and get one in another color and style for Elise. 

  


In a moment of genius, he opened his phone app to check the tracker because if Bond was too good to return it himself Quentin could go and get it. 

  


To his surprise, the dot was resting right next to his own. Or rather closer to the front of the flat.  _ Had Bond left it on his doorstep and he had just overlooked _ ? He stormed forward in his legging and oversized comfy shirt,  _ shut up he was alone and drowning his sorrow in ice cream and kitsch movies he was allowed to looks like a mess _ , and threw the door open startling a very surprised looking Bond which had his hand rose to knock. A hand that still had the pink brace around his wrist. 

  


“What are **you** doing here?”  _ Great _ , thanks brain to mouth filter for leaving him again in this desperate time, _ really good job _ .

  


“...I can leave?”  _ See what you did here  _ now after not talking with Bond for three weeks the man would leave  _ because of you _ .

  


“ **NO. Absolutely not** .” Quentin grabbed Bond's arm putting all his weight into it to get Bond to stumble over the doorstep. Only to notice that apparently his common sense was taking a break as well and he made the whole situation only worse as the man looked ready to fight his way to freedom now.  _ Fantastic. _

  


Bond shuffled in the still open door clearly uncomfortable with his new position in the apartment.

  


“I just came over to clear some things up.”

  


Please stay away and don’t contact me anymore. It is me not you. I never meant for it to be serious  _ yada, yada, yada  _ Quentin had heard it all. 

  


“I know that in our last night in Venice things got a bit out of hand and you probably regret it by now and that is fine. I ge-... **it is fine.** But you knew we had this nice thing going on where I insulted you and you spit salt and sarcasm at me and I quite miss that? And this must be super awkward for you with how far you went to avoid me the past weeks but I kinda want that back if that would be okay with you? We don’t even have to hang out regularly, or something. Just maybe some bickering in the break room or elevator..?”

  


**Ohh no the puppy eyes** . No one had told him the man had puppy eyes like this. All big and blue and wounded. Like he had been kicked. This was the most adorable shit Quentin had ever seen and he had laid in a pile of kittens once. He just wanted to take the man and pull him into his nest of blankets on the sofa and feed him some ice cream because ice cream made everything be- 

  


**-wait!**

  


“Avoid  **YOU** ?! I didn’t avoid  **YOU** . It was you that was avoiding  **ME** .”

  


Now Bond looked confused.

  


“...I did?”  _ ha take that _ he did avoid him. “But only because I thought I made you uncomfortable. You ran into  _ medical _ once to avoid me.”

  


Okay, maybe Bond wasn’t as at fault here as Quinten had thought. He tried to remember said incident. It had been the day after he had come to work and he and one of his co minions had taken on the quest of delivering some very important files for Tanner to sigh, aka the petition to finally get a new microwave in Q branch after they used the last to make 006 motorbike explode. 

  


He had seen Bond walk up to them and then their eyes meet and everything had just gone blank as he tried to remember what he had wanted to say and practiced in the mirror and then Bond had wetted his lips to speak and Quentin had had a flashback to  _ that _ night and all the blood was going some places and he didn't want to show himself in such an embarrassing state. And the next thing he knew he was leaving medical with a prescription against his arousal disorder. Now that he thought about this there were several incidents where something similar had happened. And he could easily see why Bond thought he was avoiding him.

  


He turned a quite impressive scarlet.

  


“....”

  


“What? I didn’t catch that.”

  


“I said…”

  


“Q”

  


“I said I was  **_embarrassed_ ** .”

  


“You were what?”

  


“You were standing there all seductive. What was I supposed to  **bloody do?!** ”

  


“Talk to me? Like you always did? Q, we had  _ sex _ and you were embarrassed to speak with me.”

  


“That is the problem!”

  


“The s-”

  


“ **-yes** that.”

  


“I can see how that made you uncomfortable. But to avoid me just because of that is still quite rude. It wasn’t that bad after all.”

  


“What, bad? Bond it was fantastic the best  **fucking sex I ever had** !”

  


Okay maybe screaming about his sex life in an open door in a complex with lots of noise neighbors wasn’t the best idea. He pushed Bond in a few more feet, the man fought against terrorists he could stand being in Quentin's hallway and pushed the door close. 

  


“So no problem then? It was a one-time thing, you got to still your curiosity and now we can go back to how things were before?”

  


“ **No** ,” good no, not that look. Quentin would cry if Bond continued to look at him like that, “no it was not a one-time thing. In fact, the problem is I want it to be a many time thing, maybe an exclusive thing, perhaps even _ a forever thing _ but the jury is still out on that. Summed up I don’t wanna go back to the way things were.”

  


“You want me? Like permanently? Like sex friends?” Quentin must have made a face if the smirk on the other's lips was an indication. “Or perhaps like partners, lovers?”

  


“Mhh” There was a bright happy smile on Bond’s lips which made him instantly look like a good boy who had gotten belly rubs. A way better look then kicked pup.

  


“And instead of just telling me that you saw it fit to fling yourself over the hoot of a car you were repairing and on a creeper to hide under said car?”

  


“Well duh. I was not gonna be rejected in front of the whole branch. I have some self-esteem you know?”

  


“ **Rejected** ? Why in god's name would you think I would reject you?”

  


“Because you are  **you** and I am  **me** .” He gestured wildly around.

  


“You just said you had self-esteem.”

  


“I have but I also know what my league is and where it ends and you are clearly worlds above it.”

  


“Mhh, maybe but sadly I was told quite often how much of a rule-breaker I’m so I don’t really feel like sticking to  _ my league _ .”

  


“..are you serious?”

  


“Very. I can stand you quite a big deal and the last time we spent together was enjoyable so I see no rea-” Quentin was on him in a heartbeat pushing him back against the door and just kissing him. They never really did that the last time, at least not on the lips, and now that he got the chance there was no holding back. He moved hard and fast uncaring for their bumping teeth or that his glass must be poking, just trying to get his tongue into the other's mouth as fast as possible. 

  


Bond tried to slow things down but there was no holding back for Quentin and so Bond just tried to keep up and match. Their tongues meet and fought for control until they both were out of breath and even then Quentin only got far enough away to bite Bond’s lower lips and lick it till he didn’t feel like passing out and could drove back in. 

  


He felt warm big hands moving under his shirt and then down his ass and he just jumped up clinging around Bond's neck with his legs around him trusting that the other man would hold him and instantly arms were taking his weight. This was actually quite nice as he was now bigger than Bond and could continue to kiss him while being pressed together. He cradled Bond’s face in his hands turning it so the angle would be better and felt the racing pulse under his fingers.

  


“I will...make the...bloody fucking...adjustments… so this thing”, he let a hand wander from Bond’s shoulder to his wrist and snipped against the bracelet. “Will show...your fucking heartbeat...and arousal...if I can manage…”

  


“I would quite like that.” The dick didn’t even have the courtesy to sound out of breath. Damn 00 dive training. 

  


“It’s a collar. So you are mine.”

  


“Gladly.”

  


“We should still get an actual collar that fits you. maybe even with a leash.”

  


“....James?”

  


“Bedroom. Now.”

  



End file.
